


like pandora’s box

by rottencloset



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: (Mentioned) Dick Grayson/Barbara Gordon, (Mentioned) Dick Grayson/Koriand’r, (Mentioned) Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, (Minor) Mar‘i Grayson, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - No Capes, Dick is a pervert, Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, No Explicit Sexual Content, Rape Fantasy, Sexual Content, Size Difference, Size Kink, Underage Rape/Non-con, in which dick would like to badtouch damian and feels Very Guilty About it but still jerks off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:55:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25788430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rottencloset/pseuds/rottencloset
Summary: The fact that Richard John Grayson was a good man was regarded to as the likes of something as true and consequential as gravity— grass is green, water is wet, and Dick was a good man. It was just his nature.And yet when he takes one look at his little girl’s new friend, instead of his usual thoughts of protectiveness at a potential new member of his little community and distant excitement at getting to meet another peer of his daughter’s, he thinks of something else.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Damian Wayne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 80





	like pandora’s box

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh blame curious cat anon . behold. the gross PTA dad dick grayson AU
> 
> //TW//  
> Minor asphyxiation  
> Kitchen almost-smex  
> Unspecified age gap  
> Nebulous ages but like.. heavily implied to be extreme/moderate underage  
> Minor vague description of panic attack at the end  
> Dick being a weirdo creep but feeling bad about it  
> Inordinate amount of synonyms for the word “small”

Dick, local soccer dad, PTA participant, and all around beloved member of the neighborhood of SW Peach Street was a pro with kids. It was some quality of his, perhaps his lighthearted personality or bright eyes and bendy limbs, but for some reason he could wrangle and relate to children like no other. This made all of the families, from parents to the littlest children simply adore him (albeit for different reasons). He was trusted, safe— if there was one person throughout their entire community that the adults could all say they could and would rely on, it would be Richard John Grayson. 

It was regarded to something as true and consequential as gravity— grass is green, water is wet, and Dick was a good man. It was just his nature. 

And yet when he takes one look at his little girl’s new friend, instead of his usual thoughts of protectiveness at a potential new member of his little community and distant excitement at getting to meet another peer of his daughter’s, he thinks of something else. 

The boy has duck-down soft midnight-black locks that are the slightest bit curly, hazel-jade green eyes framed in inky thick lashes, and chubby, faintly red cheeks. His little lips are set in a little pout, and his button nose is wrinkled up in disdain that makes Dick want to reach down and boop it playfully. 

He’s _gorgeous_. 

It’s something Dick would had never thought (nevertheless say aloud) about a child until now. It’s something he would throw a punch at another adult for. It’s something that makes blood rush to his groin. 

Mar’i chirps something at him, but he’s too engrossed with the scene unfolding in his head to hear what she has to say. It’s only seconds, but it feels like minutes, hours, days where he’s caught in the horrible scenario rushing through him. 

In his mind, he sees this little boy bent over on the kitchen counter. His t-shirt has hiked up, showing a sliver of his back and he flails and kicks his feet, trying to escape. They keep missing Dick, hitting against the sides of the island, and he knows that there’s soon going to be a plethora of bruises decorating his slim legs. He makes an absentminded note in his head to punish him for that later. A heel manages to clip him in the side, but he’s so tiny it barely even hurts. Dick’s too captivated by how he’s too short to reach the floor even though he’s just laid down on his stomach on the counter and smooths one hand up the length of his spine, feeling the baby-soft skin as he pushes the shirt up more, exposing his warm skin. Once it’s bunched up around his armpits, he brushes down his flank, running his fingers over the little contours and bumps of his petite body, only stopping once he reaches the base of his back. 

Looking down at the sight below him, he inhales, exhales, and reaches downward. 

He gropes him through his scanty little shorts, and the boy squeals as Dick’s big hands paw at the fleshy globes of his ass, fingers sinking in deep and hard enough to bruise as he feels him up roughly. 

The squeak he gave was so fucking cute, and Dick wants to hear more. Wants to pry those high-pitched whiny sounds of him one by one—all he needs to do to get them is touch him _there_ , he knows it. 

Fondling him, he reaches down to the child’s groin despite the way it’s pressed up against the counter, and palms it. 

It fits perfectly in the cup of his hand, and Dick’s arousal throbs as he realizes the boy’s already hard, little prick twitching at the contact, and Dick holds back a groan as he imagines whether he’s cut or uncut. His thin hips buck up frantically, and his squirming attempts to flee pick up again as the child realizes his _private place_ is being caressed, violated, and he writhes to escape. Fuck, that’s cute. In one smooth movement the older man yanks his teeny shorts down so they rest just below his asscheeks, framing them perfectly, and as he leans back to admire them the brat _shrieks_. 

It’s fantasy, his mind whispers, so there’s no one to hear, no one to rush in, but Dick spanks him, hard. The palm of his hand makes a crisp slap as it smacks his asscheek, and leaves a reddening imprint in its wake. His hand moves again, hitting his plump little ass, and Dick watches as the fat globes jiggle from the impact and feels his hard, heavy cock swell up in his pants, twitching slightly. 

Rapidly he lays punishing blows on the boy, not stopping between each hit until the glimpse of flesh he can see between the blurring movements of his hand is bright red. Dick slaps his ass one more time, leaving his hand on the curve of his cheek as he touches the hot, irritated skin and leans forward, rubbing his bulge roughly between the thighs still soft with baby fat. Heartwrenching, guttural sobs make him lift his gaze, but instead of reaching out to the boy, _comforting_ him, wiping away his tears, he flips him so he’s on his back. 

Before the child can heave in another breath through his cries, Dick’s big hand snakes forward and clasps around the delicate column of his throat. He squeezes, sealing access to his lungs, and with his other hand racks his shirt up his chest. Prostrating himself forward, he laps at one pink rosy nipple before licking his way down that vulnerable baby-soft belly, leaving a slick trail of saliva in his wake that he somehow just knows the boy will hate, and once he reaches his waist and lithe hips he grins up at those pretty eyes and plants a quick kiss on the tip of the chubby, childlike (child-sized) penis below him. 

He licks his lips, then—

His daughter’s voice tears from from his imagination. She’s looking at him, he must of zoned out when— when he thought about defiling— _abusing_ —her new friend. 

Jesus Christ. 

Nope, not thinking about that. _Ever_ again. 

Bile pools in his mouth, and he swallows it back, feeling it sting at his throat as it travels back down, but the bitter acidic taste still remains, coating his tongue. 

Dick shoves everything that just happened inside his head into a tiny little box and shuts it. His throat burns, and his stomach churns uneasily. 

He shakes the last clinging traces of that horrible thought away, dismissing it. It was just an invasive thought. An incredibly detailed, (hot) _disgusting_ invasive thought. 

Richard John Grayson is many things but a creep he is not. 

(He’s not. He’s not he’s not _he’s not—_ )

Crouching down, valiantly trying to ignore the effort of his dick to harden in his pants, he smiles at the kid, sticks out his hand. “You already must know who I am,” He says, and ignores how he practically salivates about this boy thinking about him. 

“Do not patronize me, Grayson,” He sniffs, and brushes his hand away. The fantasy bursts free from it’s box with all the glory of Pandora, and all Dick can do is imagine this child gurgling quietly around his large hands that are clasped around the column of his delicate throat, face red as he struggles to breathe through the pressure Dick is putting on his neck except he can’t. He can only choke and whine quietly instead, pleading with soft little sounds made from the last bits of his remaining air that conveys his message of _let go, Grayson, please—_

“If you must know, I am Damian Wayne-Al Ghul.” 

Reality fuzzes back in, and Damian sticks his little hand out for a handshake. Before he can think to not touch this child, Dick automatically reaches out and completes the gesture. The smile on his face is brittle, close to cracking, and he really _really_ needs to get away. Right now. 

He stands up and begins to clumsily back away, muttering some excuse about needing to go fix the clogged toilet in one of the bathrooms and sends them one last grin, paper thin and delicate as he fights for control over his body. In his dark slacks his cock begins to swell up ever further, and Dick hurries away, esophagus scorching with acid once more and crotch _pulsing_ as he imagines abusing a _child._

Somehow he makes it to the bathroom unheeded, and he flips the lock on the door before hobbling over to the toilet and sitting down, knees feeling suspiciously weak (from arousal or horror, he can’t tell). Cupping a hand over his mouth and biting down hard on his lip, he squeezes his legs together and rocks forward. 

He shoves him out of his mind. 

Damian was just a child; he had done nothing to make a predator like Dick lust after him. 

(Except be overwhelmingly small and beautiful and haughty, with a facial structure so delicate it should be sinful, warm, dark skin and a certain brattiness that Dick can just tell he has and needs to be _trained_ out of—)

Perspiration from his warm breath makes the screen on the phone in his hand fog up, and as he sticks a hand down his pants and fishes out his cock he tells himself he just needs to get off. Just needs to get off and never think about this again, just go back to the party and be normal and good. 

Fuck, he needs—he _needs—_

He spits on his hand, slicking it up, and places it on his pulsing length. It’s sensitive, it hurts. Beginning a frantic pace, he forces thoughts of his various partners into his mind— Kory, with her curly windswept hair (like his), Barbara with her cool green eyes (like his), god, even Slade and his perfect lips (like his). 

That boy, that _precious_ boy—he wants him to be _his_ , just like how he’s claimed other people in the past—

Dick squeezes the base of his cock, urging it to wither away in pain, but all he gets in response is a dribble of pre-cum that drips over his knuckles wetly. If Damian had been with him he would’ve licked it up with his pretty pink tongue or have been _made_ to, and frustration boils within him. 

His thoughts keep short-circuiting, rewiring to the child outside, and the desire to cum and just get this over with finally overpowers his moral objections. Fingers shaking, he swipes his phone open, clicks to the school website and scrolls until he sees Damian’s squishy little face on screen.

He jerks himself off at pace so fast and hard it seems near impossible, and the pain from the friction from the lack of lube slickening the way just careens him closer to the edge. 

Soon enough, with a low muffled groan, Dick cums harder than he has in months. His seed splatters across the phone screen, and he blearily realizes that it sort of makes it look like his cum has dirtied Damian’s face. 

( _Claimed_ him.) 

As he hyperventilates in his family’s shared bathroom, Dick knows that it’s too late. He’s crossed an unforgivable line, done something he can never take back, and the worst part about it is that he knows deep inside that he’s crossed the point of no return. 

(Because Dick has reached out, ignored the warning signs and red flags, the moral and ethical objections, and marked him as his as their gazes connected with each other for the first time. Then again with the handshake, the contact. The attraction was electric, instant, insurmountable and irrefutable because in that sparse second he had committed the crime—the crime of possession, wanting, and now it was time to deal with the fallout. 

He’s attempted to ignore it, but. He knows. 

He _knows_ , that in his heart of hearts, Damian is already his own.) 

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on twitter @rottencloset for more nasty stuff


End file.
